"Forward! Crush the beasts!" shouted Orlin, rising to his full height with his pistol raised high.
With a cry of "Ura!", the defenders launched a counterattack against the stunned enemy. The balance of power shifted instantly. Now the fanatics were forced to retreat under the onslaught of two united squads, one led by the Kansen. Krasin advanced, firing her pistol and wielding a heavy ice axe with unconcealed fury and contempt. The fighters followed her, trying hard to keep up with their leader. The constant rattle of submachine guns did not cease.
Some madman found himself in the path of this furious avalanche and tried to prime a grenade. Krasin didn't let him. The heavy steel tool, designed for breaking multi-year ice, came down on him, literally pounding the cultist into the ground. His comrade stood petrified with fear. When the ice axe was ripped from the dead body, he almost vomited. The cultist threw his rifle down and tried to fall to his knees, but one of Orlin's soldiers shot him on the spot.
The defenders' counterattack split the army of the Sirens' minions in two. Most of them retreated to the outskirts of the settlement and occupied the area of the second and third forts, while the vanguard was trapped between the Soviet soldiers and the shoreline, where they were being fired upon from the icebreaker.
Trying to survive, the fanatics began to huddle around the last remaining tank, whose crew continued to fight back fiercely. But an armor-piercing shell fired from the ship put an end to this agony. Following a direct hit, the T-2 exploded from within. A bright pillar of fire shot up into the dark sky like a torch, tearing the turret from its ring. The cultists standing near it fell like mown grass. The Soviet fighters caught up with the vanguard and, filled with righteous anger, riddled the Siren-worshippers with bullets. There were no survivors.
Meanwhile, the icebreaker's guns continued to fire, pinning the remaining cultists to the ground and preventing them from raising their heads. Orlin watched this, breathing heavily. A second earlier, he had shot another enemy at his feet, after which he muttered tensely:
"We've beaten them back."
"Yes," agreed Krasin, stopping next to him and lowering her ice-axe-hand to the ground. Blood continued to drip from it onto the snow. "We handled this one." She sighed heavily, looked up at the sky, and continued. "However sweet this victory may be, I'm not sure how long our luck will last. We can't stay here any longer."
"I agree," Orlin nodded, surveying the positions of his soldiers and, out of the corner of his eye, the enemy's positions, which were almost devoid of soldiers. "How soon will you be ready to put to sea?" he asked, turning to face her.
"The boilers are already steaming, so right now if needed," Krasin shrugged.
"Right..." he said thoughtfully, then took the radio from his chest and spoke. "Comrades! This was our last battle on Novaya Zemlya! We gave the enemy a worthy rebuff, and now we can leave this place. Gather our wounded and let's go!"
"Leave sentries on the bridge, let them watch the horizon," Krasin added curtly, not wanting another surprise attack.
Her searchlights slowly swept the ground, not allowing the enemies to even poke their heads out of their hiding places. At the same time, Orlin's soldiers began to slowly and discreetly retreat to the pier. The fanatics were too frightened and suppressed to even attempt to fire after them. The wounded who had been recovered were carried aboard on stretchers via the gangway and immediately moved to several cabins hastily converted into an infirmary, where women cared for them. Orlin and Krasin were the last to board, just as more signal flares illuminated the icebreaker at the pier and the ruined settlement.
Barely visible human silhouettes appeared on the high ground again, alongside them rolled the massive silhouettes of machinery. Descending the hill, they began firing rapidly.
"That's it, we're leaving," Orlin said curtly, running up the gangway onto the icebreaker's deck.
Krasin ran right behind him as the massive propellers began to work in reverse. The massive ten-thousand-ton ship slowly gained speed, gradually crawling backward. Plumes from shells began to erupt from the water around the icebreaker's bow, while in response, constant cannon and machine-gun fire came from its deck. Clouds of smoke and fire engulfed the abandoned settlement.
Orlin and Krasin climbed to the navigating bridge, joining Malin, who stood there mesmerized, watching the receding shore. Suddenly, several bullets whistled centimeters above the heads of all three, forcing them to drop to the floor.
Krasin immediately snapped to attention:
"Everyone hide in the cabins until I say otherwise!" she shouted, and her voice echoed from the speakers throughout the entire ship.
Bullets drummed against the ship's hull. Enemy tanks lined up on the shore of the cold sea, aiming their guns at the departing icebreaker.
German auto-cannons roared, showering the ship with a hail of shells that almost all hit the thick ice belt, causing no damage to the ship. Krasin answered them with fire from her three-inch guns, and the explosions of their shells knocked the enemy infantry to the ground. Gradually, the bullets stopped drumming against the hull, and soon the cracks of the auto-cannons fell silent. The last visible flashes fell clearly short. The final chord of the evacuation was a shot from the icebreaker's right gun.
The shell flew out of a cloud of gunpowder smoke, rushing toward the shore almost at its maximum range. The people were no longer visible, and the tanks were nothing more than black dots, barely visible against the background of the burning settlement. That's why the bright pillar of fire rising from the shore into the air surprised those watching the battle from the ship's portholes. Even Krasin, who was busy turning the hull, looked with surprise at the fireball rising into the sky.
"Wow," she muttered, her eyes wide, and after a few moments, calming down, returned to control. Her hull was now broadside to the shore, and the engines stopped, switching from reverse to forward thrust. The propellers hidden underwater slowly began to move, pushing the icebreaker forward. Black coal smoke began to pour from the funnels with double the force, and with the quiet crunch of side ice, gaining speed, Krasin began to steer the ship away from the shore of Novaya Zemlya.
***
"Agh! Aaah!" Painful cries echoed through the icebreaker's dim corridors. The source of these heart-wrenching screams was the infirmary, where a most difficult operation was taking place.
Several people who had come aboard with the last wave were wounded in one way or another—by a bullet, a fragment from a mine, shell, or grenade. Unfortunately, not all of them got away with just a bandage. A fragment had hit one soldier's leg, cutting deep to the bone and lodging in it. It couldn't be removed, and leaving it there was not an option—blood poisoning could start. The decision was made quickly and clearly: amputation.
The supply of painkillers on Krasin's board was almost depleted—it had been spent stabilizing the other wounded, and this soldier had refused the painkiller. In the end, he was set up in one of the cabins converted into a small operating room, and everyone else was moved as far away as possible, especially the children, who were in another, farthest part of the ship.
Five of the strongest and healthiest men held him by his arms and legs while one of the nurses, armed with a medical saw, set to work. The soldier clenched a cloth towel in his mouth, and then the operation began. Orlin had been nearby all this time. He heard perfectly the terrible, chilling screams of one of his subordinates. It was all on his conscience, on his soul. He closed his eyes, and a grimace of sorrow appeared on his face.
"Damn it," he whispered, lightly punching the steel wall. He felt no pain.
"Well, Captain," Malin's slightly muffled voice barely managed to break through the loud screams, "congratulations to you, and to all of us—we are saved."
"Saved... Well, saved, for God's sake," Orlin swore with annoyance.
Malin winced:
"He will live, maybe like this, but he will live. Some don't even have that," he said, before adding. "I've seen people die here even in peacetime, when there was no war. This is the Arctic—you can't relax here, ever."
Orlin looked at Malin sideways from under his brows, then nodded heavily in agreement.
"Have you found out how many people are on board now... how many we managed to evacuate?" he asked, trying to distract himself somehow.
The old polar explorer sighed heavily and protractedly.
"If what I've learned is true, then according to the roll call, there are currently one hundred and twenty-seven people and Krasin on the ship."
"One hundred twenty-seven?" Orlin was amazed. Understanding flashed in his eyes like a flame. "But there were one hundred fifty-two!"
"Correct," Malin nodded sadly. "Twenty-six people remained there, on Novaya Zemlya, forever."
"Yes... damn it!" Orlin growled displeasedly, grabbing his head with one hand. His other hand clenched into a fist, and he shook it, about to punch the wall again in anger.
"It's war, my friend," Malin said in a dry, tired tone, putting a hand on the captain's shoulder.
At that moment, one of the nurses came out of the operating room. Her white coat was red with blood, and in her hands lay a towel with which she was trying to wipe her hands.
"We seem to be done," she said in a languid, tired voice, looking at the two men. "He will live, but it would still be better if he gets to proper conditions on the mainland soon; we don't have all the necessary equipment here."
"Understood," Orlin nodded, turning to Malin. "We need to ask Krasin about the journey."
"Right," Malin agreed with a nod.
"In that case, comrades, I'll leave you," said the nurse, turning around and heading back toward the makeshift wards. "There are still many who need medical attention."
***
Krasin sat in the chart room, bent over the maps for several hours, trying to assume and plot a course. On the one hand, it was simpler than ever—the path from Novaya Zemlya to Severomorsk took a little over two days in a straight line... in peacetime. Now, between them and the coveted goal lay the Mirror Seas—the Sirens' cunning traps, which also served as their military bases and strongholds. And where they ended—neither she nor anyone else knew.
When Krasin had set out on this voyage, she had taken the northern route through an area heavily choked with ice. It was free of Mirror Seas then, but what about now? These "Seas" could increase in size. This had been observed in the Far East, the North Sea, the Mediterranean, and the Gulf of Mexico. And here, in the Northern Ocean, there had been several instances of something that could be mistaken for the expansion of the "Seas." Although this phenomenon was quite rare, it still couldn't be discounted.
"Damn!.." Krasin growled, comparing her measurements with a drawn paper table lying nearby.
Several rulers, a compass, and a pair of dividers lay there. Several pencils were already broken and waiting their turn next to a massive knife, its blade slightly black from scraped-off graphite.
"Right, what if..."
"Comrade Krasin," Captain Orlin's voice sounded in the doorway before he entered the chart room. Malin followed him. Both were in a grim and tense state, though fatigue, which seemed to have permeated all the passengers on the icebreaker, was much more clearly visible on their faces.
"Come in, comrades," she waved her hand, continuing to draw lines on the map.
Malin and Orlin stopped before the Kansen, staring at the maps. They both knew how to read maps—one by duty, the other by experience—but both were somewhat unfamiliar with nautical charts.
"What about our course?" Malin asked cautiously, trying to make sense of all the marks Krasin had already scribbled.
"It's quite complicated," Krasin said in a slightly hesitant voice after a moment's thought, then put her finger on the map. "Here, look. We are here now," her hand stopped a few centimeters from the outlines of Novaya Zemlya. "We are currently moving North along the coast at a distance of, if I'm calculating correctly, about forty miles. We are now around 72 - 72.5 degrees. We need to reach approximately the seventy-eighth degree, after which we will have to turn west," Krasin sighed. "This way we should bypass the Mirror Seas, being in relative safety."
"Relative?" Orlin asked with some trepidation in his voice.
"I can't guarantee that we won't encounter some lost Siren raider or something worse along the way," she said with clear displeasure on her face. "Plus, we are in the Arctic. Anything can happen here. You've probably already seen that for yourself," she nodded toward the door, clearly alluding to the now-silenced screams.
"Yes..." Orlin nodded his head, sighing heavily and lowering his eyes to the floor. "That's true." He quickly pulled himself together and, raising his eyes, asked, "How many days will the journey to Severomorsk take?"
"In normal times, I would say the journey would take two and a half days—sixty hours, but it took me about four days to get to you, and now we need to go even further north for safety," said Krasin, sketching an approximate route on the map.
"Can you just tell us how long we'll be at sea?" Malin asked her.
"Five days," came the immediate reply from Krasin as she looked up at the two present. "Certainly no less, possibly even more."
"And how many days' worth of supplies do we have?" Orlin asked insistently.
"Enough for about twenty days," Krasin shrugged. "I set out on the voyage with full tanks, and besides, I replenished supplies with you all too."
"So, we have a fourfold supply of provisions," Orlin summarized, stroking his chin.
"More like a twofold one," Malin corrected him, pursing his lips slightly, before immediately explaining, "Our rations are increased—the wounded and so on, they need more."
"Well, we have enough provisions anyway, right?"
"Yes, we shouldn't have any problems with that, just as with fuel. We have plenty of both, but we still can't delay."
"Agreed," Malin nodded.
"I'm not against that either," Orlin said with a wry smile. "Sorry, Krasin, but I'm more accustomed to being on land than on your board."
"Don't worry, Comrade Captain, I understand you," the Kansen replied calmly and added, "But there is one matter with which I will need your help, comrades..."
The two men glanced at each other, then almost synchronously turned to the Kansen.
"We're listening."
***
The sun slowly sank toward the horizon. The second day at sea after the evacuation passed almost unnoticed. All the wounded were more or less stabilized and lay in their cabins. A constant watch from Orlin's subordinates was posted on deck.
Krasin had insisted that the captain assign people for this simple but exhausting work to ensure safety. She still feared a surprise attack. The memories of the northern convoys, despite the years that had passed, were fresher than ever in her memory. Perhaps the Arctic really preserves everything that enters it?
Most of the passengers were below deck, in warm, heated cabins, but not all. Those who were too weak or simply didn't want to go on deck were armed with buckets and mops; others were in the galleys, almost non-stop preparing food for all the passengers. The third—the bravest—armed with crowbars, went up to the deck, which after two days in the open ocean was covered with a thick shell of ice.
Throughout the day, the men, women, and children who volunteered for this chipped, cracked, and knocked off the accumulated ice, which was dangerous for both the passengers and the ship itself.
In general, life went on.
***
Alekseev was working in that third group. After almost eight hours on deck, he stumbled into the cabin. He had barely taken off his heavy hat when steam poured out of it, and this was in a warm cabin. The man slowly made his way to his bunk and almost immediately collapsed onto it. He was so exhausted that he didn't notice the cabin's two other occupants.
"Papa!" The voice of Vera, who had been sitting silently in the corner until then, made him raise his head for a moment.
"Daughter..." he whispered quietly, looking into Vera's eyes before collapsing back onto the pillow.
"Why are you lying down in your clothes?" she pretended to fuss in a childlike manner before stepping forward.
"Vera, what are you doing?" asked a second voice, which belonged to her peer—Roma, the son of Nikita Rulev, who was currently on watch on deck. His mother, who also lived in this cabin, was working in the kitchen now.
"Grandma said you can't go to sleep dirty!" she replied in a pretend-serious voice before grabbing the glove still on her father's hand.
She pulled the glove off his hand with noticeable difficulty and immediately gasped. Besides the steam rising from it, the skin was shriveled from prolonged exposure to moisture, and streaks of blood were visible on the palm and fingers.
"Papa!" Vera exclaimed worriedly, alarmed by what she saw. "Roma! Help me!" she loudly called to the boy before grabbing the sleeve of her father's jacket.
The boy followed the girl's example, helping her. They quickly pulled off the second glove along with the jacket before Alekseev rolled onto his back, whispering quietly:
"Thank you," he exhaled, slightly opening his eyes. Slowly, with noticeable effort, he managed to lift his body and sit on the edge of the bunk, looking at the children. "Thank you, kids."
At that moment, footsteps sounded faintly in the corridor, slowly approaching.
"Everyone who is free! Dinner time!" A young, girlish voice first approached, then, after reaching maximum volume, began to slowly fade away.
"Well, kids," Alekseev began with a kind smile, "dinner time!"
"Hooray!" the children clapped their hands.
The schedule on the ship had been drawn up almost immediately after departure and was followed impeccably, although it was much softer compared to the usual routine on warships due to the large number of women, children, and wounded.
Very soon, Georgy (Alekseev) arrived at the galley with the two children; it was already bursting with visitors. Somehow they managed to carve out a little space for themselves, settling in the very corner with their plates. The ration they received was surprisingly quite hearty and large, even larger than on Novaya Zemlya, and this despite the situation they were in. It consisted of a meat-based soup. Though there wasn't much meat itself, and the main part was well-cooked grain, usually buckwheat or oatmeal. Along with the soup, each person received a piece of black bread, hardtack or polar explorer's rusks, diluted lemon juice, lard or jerky, and four squares of chocolate. The children were initially delighted that they would be given sweets but were quickly disappointed as the chocolate bars turned out to be bitter. Speculators immediately appeared, willing to trade products. They weren't even stopped.
Alekseev, along with his daughter and his friend's son, calmly continued their meal when another figure approached them.
"Excuse me, may I join you here?" a subdued, barely audible female voice asked over the hum of the galley.
"Of course!" Alekseev almost choked, raising his eyes to the speaker. "Comrade Krasin, of course, sit down," he said immediately, putting his daughter on his knees to free up space.
"Thank you," she nodded, taking a seat on the very edge.
Despite her position on this ship, which allowed her to seclude herself from everyone, Krasin preferred to be surrounded by others—her crew before, and the passengers now.
Perhaps this started during the expedition to rescue Solovey (Nightingale), or maybe during the search for the Red Tent. She herself couldn't say when she had developed this habit. Maybe she had always had it. In her heavy work in the northern latitudes, where for tens of kilometers around there is only cold water and white, dead ice, communication with any people, be it the lowest sailor, stoker, messenger, or the highest officer or captain—gave her, among other things, that feeling of life that is so lacking in the north.
"Papa!" Vera called out, having bitten off a piece of hardtack and barely chewed it. "Who is this auntie?" she asked in a slightly mesmerized voice, looking at Krasin.
Alekseev didn't have time to answer when a soft smile spread across the Kansen's face.
"What a curious daughter you have," she grinned, stroking Vera's head. "What's your name?"
"Vera," the girl answered in a slightly shy voice, then averted her gaze. "And you?"
"Krasin," the woman replied, removing her hand from the girl's head. "I am... you could say, the captain of this ship."
"Wow!" the girl exclaimed, her eyes literally flashing with surprise and anticipation. "Tell me! Tell me!"
"Vera!" Alekseev grunted at his daughter in a displeased voice, then looked up at Krasin, who slightly covered her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress a quiet chuckle. "Please excuse her."
"Come now," Krasin pretended to be surprised. "It's fine. On the contrary, I'm glad that children are so interested in everything nowadays. It's so nice." She saw the girl raise her head to her father with a look that practically shouted: "See, I didn't do anything wrong! So don't scold me!" Then the girl lowered her eyes to Krasin and, in the same pretend-childish, shy voice, asked:
"So will you tell me something?" She clasped her hands on her chest, asking Krasin to tell her something.
"Sorry, little one, but I can't right now," she said, nodding at her plate. "Too much work today. Let's do it another time, maybe once we've disembarked you all—we'll see each other."
"Okay," Vera replied a little sadly, lowering her head a little, before grabbing a couple of hardtacks from the edge of her plate and holding them out to Krasin. "Here! Take them! So you have more strength!"
"Ha-ha! Thank you," the woman laughed again with tenderness. She accepted the gift from the girl with some reluctance, but did so anyway, not wanting to upset her.
"Mm-hmm!" the girl nodded. "Papa, I'm done eating! Can I go back?" she asked, tilting her head back again.
"Eh... of course," he sighed, allowing her to get to her feet. "Roma, how about you?"
"I ate everything, uncle," he said in a calm voice, showing his empty plate.
"Well, good," Alekseev nodded. "Go on then," he sighed before the children jumped up from their seats and ran back to the cabin.
"Such sweet children..." Krasin sighed, watching the running figures disappearing. When they disappeared behind the metal door, she lightly tugged Alekseev's sleeve, attracting his attention. "Here, take this," she said, handing the man a chocolate bar wrapped in foil.
"What are you doing!" Georgy began indignantly, looking at the bundle in her hands, then raised his eyes to Krasin. "Comrade Krasin, why? This is yours."
"Take it, my friend," the girl smiled, continuing to speak. "Your daughter did the same; let this be a nice gift for her."
"Thank you, I will definitely give it to her," he nodded, finally accepting the gift from Krasin, before glancing at his plate, which was already empty. "Well... looks like I'm done here."
"I won't detain you," the Kansen said with a grin as Alekseev got up from the table and also left the mess hall.
Krasin continued to slowly sip her soup, occasionally raising her eyes to those around her.
"Still, that girl, Vera, lifted my spirits..." she said quietly, lightly biting off a piece of hardtack.
***
The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon, replaced by a high, pale white moon that illuminated the sea surface. The icebreaker continued its movement north. To port, literally half a kilometer from it, stretched a massive, endless ice field that extended beyond the horizon, and to starboard was free, pitch-black water, barely rippled by occasional low waves. Krasin herself sat on the navigating bridge, watching the slowly drifting ice overboard.
"It's like sitting on a train," Captain Orlin's quiet voice rolled through the wheelhouse.
Krasin didn't pay attention to him, only saying quietly:
"Perhaps..." She sighed and continued, "In my more than thirty years, I've never actually traveled by train..."
"Well, there will be time," Orlin chuckled, sitting down opposite her and also turning to the porthole, watching the slowly drifting ice. After a few minutes, he asked: "Can we pass through here? Through this ice?"
Krasin slightly raised herself and squinted her eyes. She was silent for a few moments, assessing what she saw.
"We probably could pass through there, but we would lose a lot of time," she replied before returning to what turned out to be a very comfortable position. "The ice there isn't very thick, so we could break through, but we would lose speed. It's better to go north now; there should be a lead—an ice passage with open water where we can calmly proceed to Murmansk at our previous speed."
"Understood," Orlin nodded. "Are we at least on schedule?"
"Yes," Krasin nodded, reaching somewhere inside her jacket. A moment later, she pulled out a foil-wrapped bundle and a flask. "Will you have some, Captain?"
"Won't say no."
The Kansen broke the chocolate bar in half, handing one half to Orlin. Then, unscrewing the flask's cap, she poured a liquid of a rich chestnut color into it and handed it to the captain as well.
"Cooled down, unfortunately," Krasin sighed, slightly shaking the flask before tilting her head back and taking a sip.
"What is it?" Orlin asked, bringing the makeshift cup to his nose.
"Slightly cooled black tea, diluted with Armenian cognac," Krasin replied immediately, lowering her head. Almost immediately, she tossed back a piece of bitter chocolate and, wincing slightly from the bitterness, washed it down again.
"Cognac evaporates in boiling water," Orlin said, cautiously tasting the liquid offered by Krasin.
"That's why I cool the tea first!" she exclaimed, and a smile spread across her face. "If you brew the tea first and then cool it to about seventy degrees, the cognac hardly evaporates at all."
"And carrying two flasks?" Orlin looked at her skeptically.
"Nah, takes up too much space," Krasin replied laconically, taking another sip from the flask.
They might have continued talking like this if suddenly one of the sentries hadn't burst into the wheelhouse. His uniform was slightly white from the blown snow, and he was shaking a little from the cold. With a quick movement, he lowered the scarf that had been covering his mouth and spoke in a clipped voice:
"Comrades Orlin and Krasin! We've noticed some movement off the starboard side, a kilometer from us. Someone is moving parallel to us."
Krasin and Orlin fell silent for a moment, exchanged glances, then almost simultaneously jumped to their feet and almost ran onto the deck. A few moments later, they were on the upper tier of the wheelhouse, where the remaining two observers, still holding binoculars to their eyes, continued to watch the strange movement off the starboard side.
"Binoculars here," Krasin said in an icy tone, addressing one of the observers.
He quickly complied with the Kansen's order, handing her the binoculars. Orlin did the same. Now they both peered into the black expanse of the sea.
"Yes, something's not right here," the woman growled through gritted teeth, looking at the water.
It seemed to be boiling. Small air bubbles emerged from under the water, bursting on its surface.
"Maybe it's whales? I heard they are found here," said one of the lookouts from behind.
"Whales are found here, but it's definitely not them," Krasin muttered, peering into the night darkness.
"Then what?" Orlin asked anxiously, lowering his binoculars and turning to Krasin.
"I have five assumptions, and each is worse than the last," Krasin spat, then added, "And I hope none of them are correct."
At that moment, as if hearing their conversation, the water boiled with double force. White foam appeared on the black water from the churning. It churned for a few seconds, then swelled, and a barely visible silhouette began to emerge from the water.
"Well, shit!" Krasin swore, lowering the binoculars and punching the railing.
The others present nervously glanced at each other, then, grabbing their binoculars, began to observe what had caused such a reaction from the Kansen. Slowly, metallic elements began to emerge from under the water. First, it was two masts, which weren't visible due to the darkness, their presence only indicated by the wakes on the water.
Then the top of the conning tower broke the surface. It was quite short, and its bow contours were rounded, similar to Italian destroyers. Another moment passed, and the next element appeared—ahead and behind the tower, two rounded, separately placed gun turrets emerged, from which long guns stared menacingly in different directions.
"A submarine," someone present summarized in a whisper.
"Ours?" asked someone else, and his voice sounded hopeful. "Did they not forget about us?" he asked, but that very second he was interrupted by Krasin's cold words.
"No... not ours," Krasin shook her head, then continued, "Ours aren't built like that." She immediately turned to Captain Orlin. "I'm afraid it's the enemy."
"X-1..." one of the observers said thoughtfully, instantly attracting the attention of everyone on the bridge. "What?" he asked in bewilderment, realizing the stares were on him. "It's written on the conning tower there."
"Brit, innit?" another asked, grinning slightly.
Krasin raised the binoculars again. The strange hybrid of a submarine and an artillery ship had fully surfaced. It looked bizarre and, at the same time, fascinating. Its high freeboard was visible above the water, seeming to consist of two parts—a lower, rounded one and an upper, almost straight one that abutted the disproportionately large gun turrets and the awkward, small conning tower. Following this, the Kansen removed the binoculars from her eyes and, turning her head, said in a steely tone:
"Captain, listen to me carefully. Go down below deck to the port side. Get all the wounded and children up and move them to the forward half of the port side, starting from the second funnel. Women who agree—there too. The rest—lead them to the lower decks and issue them tools; let them be ready for repair work. Also, take another ten—fifteen people."
"What for?"
"Issue them weapons, the heaviest we have, and have them line up on the starboard side." Krasin pointed her hand at the submarine and explained with anger in her voice, "That's an Ashes-class. If it's sailing with its hull [and not its rigging], then perhaps it has someone on board. Your task is to drench it with fire."
"Understood!" Orlin nodded confidently, gritting his teeth, before hastily leaving.
Krasin turned to the sentries remaining with her.
"Join him."
"Aye!" they nodded in sync before leaving her.
The Kansen remained alone on the upper platform of the navigating bridge when an overly polite, yet venomous female voice came through the radio receiver:
**"I am calling the icebreaker of the Soviet Navy Krasin. You have to shut down your engines immediately, or I will send you and your crew to the bottom of the ocean."**